Clapton (32 page)

As a result, and this of course is just my opinion, the New York shows were a pale shadow of what we sounded like in London. Lack of rehearsal was one thing, but it reflected something else. The arrogance was back. Also Madison Square Garden is a big place, and we sounded small and tinny in there. I repeat, I am only stating my opinion, but for me the heart had gone out of it, and also a certain amount of animosity had crept back in. Maybe it was the money, who knows, but I did know that enough was enough, and I would probably not be passing this way again. It was good, however, to know that both the other lads would be solvent for a while, and overall that made it worthwhile for me.

I got word in November that Billy Preston was seriously ill and had fallen into a coma. It came as a huge shock, because, just like Brian, he had seemed so well when I last saw him. In truth, he had been very ill on and off for the last five years, suffering from failed kidneys and having dialysis two or three times a week, even on the road. But comparatively speaking, he had looked and played well on the
Escondido
sessions, so it was dreadful news, and from what I could gather, things did not look very good for him. I planned to go and see him as soon as Christmas was over.

Christmas was very welcome when it came. With all that had happened through the autumn, I needed some light and laughter, and these days, because of the kids, Christmas was becoming exciting again, just like when I was a kid myself. We now had, including Ruth, four children to buy presents for and entertain, and it was fantastic, just the way it is supposed to be. Also I had got hold of a Santa Claus outfit, and at a set time, just after dinner on Christmas Eve, I or a suitable volunteer would make a fleeting appearance as Father Christmas, strolling across the garden just outside the window. The kids would be alerted to this by Melia and would go crazy, talking about it for days on end. It was so heartwarming to be able to do these little special things for my family, and I felt blessed.

On Boxing Day, I flew to Arizona to see Billy. He was in a private clinic, still in a coma, and it was thought that the chances of his recovery were slim. His manager, Joyce Moore, had been in contact with me throughout his illness and was hoping that a visit from some of his friends might help pull him back from wherever he had gone. When I saw him, however, my heart sank. He looked so old, and his eyes were open and staring off to the side, not what I had expected at all. I thought he would just look like he was asleep, and it shocked me.

I talked to him a lot, whispering in his ear, telling him that I loved and missed him, and that we all wanted him to get well and come back to us, but I have to admit that I thought it was a lost cause. I don’t have much experience of these things, but it seemed that he had already left us. For that reason, I said my good-byes to him before I left to come home. It may have been premature if he recovered, but I needed to do it for both of us, as I really didn’t believe that I would see him again in this life.

The year ended with a sad but sober program at the leisure center, with Brian’s image projected above the stage. He was well loved and would be sadly missed by the Guildford recovering community, and we gave him a splendid sendoff. His children, Cathy and Nick, attended, and his good friend Pat made a heart-wrenching speech. I, for one, will never forget him, and what he did, so selflessly, for so many of us.

T
he year of the world tour began quietly enough. Although we had a lot of preparations to make, we chose to get on the boat and have a short cruise around the Caribbean before the workload took me away. The sea around Antigua and the neighboring islands was a lot rougher than the Mediterranean, and the kids sometimes had a tough time of it, but it was great for me to be able to show my family around places I had been before, many years ago. Ruth and her boyfriend Derek came out to join us for a week, and it was good to see Ruth, who was born in Montserrat, back in her element. Not much had changed in the Caribbean. New designer boutiques had sprung up here and there, but for the most part many of the islands were just as they had been thirty years ago.

We spent the first part of the holiday in the house that I had built on Antigua. It has had so many additions over the years, guest cottages for the most part, that it now actually resembles a small village. It is a beautiful house, made entirely of local stone, and totally hurricane-proof, but because it was planned and built in my bachelor days, I have had to do a lot of work to make it safe for the family. For a start, it stands at the top of a cliff overlooking a breathtaking view of Indian Creek, and the drop is terrifying, so I am always a little bit apprehensive when I’m there with my children. I long to spend more time there, and I know we will one day, but it is a harsh environment, and the girls will have to grow up a bit more before I can feel completely assured about their safety there.

In April, I went off to France to begin rehearsals for the tour. The new band was very exciting, fresh and strong, and in some respects very reminiscent of the Dominos, perhaps because of Derek Trucks’s presence. We began the tour in Europe, playing as many songs from
Back Home
as we could, including a sit-down section where we picked up acoustic instruments. For the first time ever, I played “I Am Yours” from the
Layla
album. Maybe it was this in itself that awoke in me a new love for the old Dominos stuff, but it was certainly helped on by Derek and Doyle’s insistence that we give those songs another airing.

Over the course of the year, the set changed to the point where the whole of the first half was entirely from
Layla
, and then it broke down into tunes from different eras, ending up with the song “Layla” itself. It felt like a great show, and when we played to audiences who were old enough to remember the original album, we went down very well. In fact, even when we played to crowds who weren’t so familiar with the songs, it didn’t really matter, as we were having such a good time playing them.

Halfway through the European tour, we had a break to avoid the World Cup. We had seen the preparations for it building in Germany, where it was being hosted, and knew it was going to be next to impossible to get hotels or conduct normal business until the whole thing was over. We got on the boat with Jamie Lee and Paul Cummins and their families and trolled around Corsica for a couple of weeks. It was good fun trying to find bars that were showing the qualifying games for the Cup, and watching the locals get into heated disputes. I’m convinced it’s all rigged anyway. I tend toward conspiracy phobia in all things of this nature, including politics. With the amount of money that’s at stake, I don’t believe the likes of Rupert Murdoch or George Bush are inclined to leave very much to chance. Call me cynical, but every other week someone gets caught or spills the beans.

We started the tour again in Verona and, as luck would have it, the Italians were playing France in the final. The game was played the night before our first show, and we were invited by our hotel manager to watch it on a big-screen TV in the lounge. The famous Zidane foul stole the show, reminding me a lot of Cantona’s equally infamous dropkick, a strange phenomenon, totally riveting and yet utterly repellent and horrifying at the same time. When the final whistle blew, we were smack in the middle of all the World Cup madness we had hoped to avoid, and the whole of Italy went totally berserk.

The fact that their victory was decided by a dismal penalty shootout didn’t seem to quell their enthusiasm. I felt strangely detached from it all, my attitude toward national sporting events being slightly ambivalent. I tend to support any team that I think is playing creatively and fairly, and with character, elements apparently missing through the course of this particular event. We moved on, back into Germany and up through Scandinavia, and at the end of the European leg we took another, longer break. The family and I met up in France and a few days later flew on to Columbus.

The last half of August and a good part of September were spent just lolling around the house, swimming and relaxing in the sun, my idea of heaven. Julie and Ella were now proficient swimmers, inasmuch as they were confident and comfortable in the water, and Sophie, who had been walking for quite a while, wasn’t far behind. This is exactly what I had been working for, the ability to be able to sit and play with my family in the sun, basically doing nothing, just having fun.

Our summer sojourn was broken in half by the need to take photos with J. J. for the
Escondido
album, and the agreement was that I would travel to LA, meet J. J. there—he hates to fly—spend a couple of days taking pictures, and meet with Tom Whalley to catch up on business while I was in town. Hanging out with J. J. is one of my favorite pastimes, as he is a great character with a brilliant sense of humor. I would say, from having got to know him, that he has been misunderstood by most people, often being referred to as a recluse when in fact he is a very sociable man, open and charismatic. He just enjoys his own company. As far as I know, J. J. has never even been nominated for the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame, while I have been inducted three times. In my humble opinion, he is one of the most important artists in the history of rock, quietly representing the greatest asset his country has ever had, and a lot of people in Europe have never even heard of him.

Traveling back to Columbus, because I had a one-way ticket I was therefore a prime suspect for blowing up the plane, and the security people joyfully took me apart as usual. I swore quietly to myself, for the hundredth time, that I would never come back to this country again. Of course, it’s the same everywhere now, but for some reason it just feels worse in America. When we tour, we always charter a small airplane, a common practice for people in this business for a long time, but it tends to make me forget how grim it is trying to get around these days. I used to love traveling, I’ve always felt it was in my blood, but I can’t stomach it anymore and literally dread going to an airport. The interesting thing about this tour has been the quiet and sometimes happy knowledge that I may be going to some of these places, places I have been visiting all my life, for the very last time.

We began the American tour by commuting out of Columbus for a few days to maximize family time, starting in St. Paul and working our way across to the eastern seaboard. About a week in, just before I left home to hit the hotels, I caught a bug that completely laid me out. It turned into a chest infection that remained with me off and on for the rest of the tour, and forced us to cancel a gig in Detroit. I have canceled only two or three times in my whole career, and I am proud of that. I take it very hard when I can’t show up, as I feel like I’ve let everybody down. Nevertheless, once I’d recovered, the shows continued to pick up momentum, and we hit our groove early on. This was a great band, one of the best I’ve ever gone out with, and I knew we had tons more to give.

After another shorter break in Columbus, listening to my kids’ new American accents, I headed west to meet J. J. again and launch our album. We were scheduled to do an intensive three-day press junket, after which I would travel on to Tokyo to begin the Japanese tour. I really don’t know if this promotion stuff serves any real purpose. I’ve always been resistant to it, and it’s not unusual for me to do a week of promoting and then meet someone on the street who will ask, “Are you still making records?” The best part of this particular affair was to be sitting next to J. J., feeling him bristle as his patience wore thin from being asked the same ridiculous questions over and over again.

I was really looking forward to Japan. I have a lot of friends there and a very loyal following. The morning after I arrived in Tokyo, Hiroshi came over to the hotel on his new Cinelli track bike to give me a sample of some jackets he was designing for the Japanese division of Levi Strauss & Co. He is a great designer, taking classic or military designs and just adding one or two distinguishing features to make something new and unique. He is still a leading pioneer in street culture, hence the Cinelli. Track bike riding is taking over from skateboarding in Japan, and Hiroshi is in the avant-garde as usual. I have caught the obsession of course. He is very infectious, and I have begun buying vintage road bikes, not to ride but because I have always loved the equipment of cycling, especially bikes and accessories from the sixties. My magpie tendencies have led me into a lot of collectible territories over the years: cars, guitars, clothes, art, watches, and, most recently, guns and western belt buckles. The watch collection was a dangerous excursion and I became really obsessed, particularly with rare Patek Philippes. I couldn’t believe the prices some of their chronographs would reach at auction, and it was as if I were testing myself to see if I had the nerve to buy these things. I was spending vast amounts of money at one point on pieces that were arguably of interest only to someone like me. I found out that, when the boat issue came up and I tried to sell some of these priceless pieces to pay off my debt, the profit wasn’t half as great as I had been led to believe. But no matter. I have educated myself enough to know that what I have is good, and I love these timepieces. They are so beautifully made.

We stayed in Japan about two weeks too long, playing eighteen shows, twelve of which were at the Budokan arena in Tokyo. I didn’t really mind, because I love being in Japan, but I was intensely homesick. I had been away from home for almost seven months and was really missing my family. The music was great, and the fans there really know their rock history, so the Dominos material was well received. The highlight of the tour, as it is every time, is hanging out with Aki and Tak, and their boss Mr. Udo. Tak is usually the tour producer when we’re there, sharing management responsibilities with Peter Jackson and Mick “Doc” Double, and Aki looks after me, driving me around and taking care of my every need. They are great guys, and we have become close friends over the years.

Seijiro Udo has been promoting concerts in Japan and the Far East for fifty or sixty years, and has promoted every tour I’ve done in Japan since 1973. The first thing I do when I arrive in Tokyo, without fail, is to meet Mr. Udo at the Hama Steakhouse for Kobe beef. I will go to my hotel, drop my bags, and go straight to the restaurant, and I have been doing that every time for the last thirty-four years. I love Japanese food, and while I am there I will probably eat with Mr. Udo about three times a week, the finest food you can imagine. He is samurai, and that says it all. His sense of honor and integrity are peerless, and along with that he has an outrageous sense of humor. We laugh and tease a lot. I love him and think the world of him; he is one of a kind.

After traveling to Osaka and a couple of other cities, I was ready to go home. I’d had enough of hotels with pillows that collapsed into nothing when I put my head on them, and people endlessly asking to have their picture taken with me. I was worn out, and Christmas was around the corner. I was already making CD compilations of Christmas carols and hymns, and had bought toys and clothes for Melia and the kids. Our plan was to meet up at Hurtwood, spend a week getting over the jet lag, and then get the house ready for the Christmas and New Year’s holidays. After that we would split up again, with Melia and the kids returning to Columbus while I toured Asia and Australia. But for now I was going home, and I just couldn’t wait.

Thank God for the Internet. When I am away from the family for long periods of time like this, we use it a lot, sometimes just to say goodnight when it’s the kids’ bedtime, but also generally to try and stay current. I honestly can’t imagine life now without it, especially traveling and trying to raise a young family at the same time. Computer culture is another interest I caught from Hiroshi. I remember seeing him fooling around with a beautiful little Sony laptop shortly after we met and thinking, “I have to have one of those,” even though I had been curmudgeonly contemptuous of the whole technology craze from day one. Since then I have managed to teach myself basic skills, and although I still type with only one finger, I surf constantly and have acquired a massive library of music, which I constantly convert into playlists and CDs for the car. I have become very dependent on it over the last couple of years, but it has been invaluable on this tour with all the traveling I have had to do.

Getting off the plane at Heathrow was like stepping into a warm bath. I was so glad to be home. Melia and the girls were already at Hurtwood and I couldn’t wait to see them. I complain so much about England once I’m safely ensconced there, but there really is no place like home, and there is nothing to compare with arriving home and seeing those little faces creased with happiness and hear their shrieks of joy when I get out of the car. They all want to show me their new toys, and they’re talking all at the same time. It’s absolute mayhem and I love it. It was great to see the Christmas decorations, too, and know, for a few days, that I could bathe in the happiness of being really at home, with nothing else to do but indulge myself.